Shadow of Your Heart
by NotAContrivance
Summary: Olivia's a lot more than the Iron Lady everyone sees, if one only knows how to see through all her facades and elaborate defenses... Not that she'd let you. Snippets of the life she could've lived over the years and how she became who she is.


I should begin by saying that this totally goes against what I normally write, but I wanted to shake things up a bit. I also feel like Olivia is a very underutilized character, and I know a lot of people dislike her just as a rule, but I'm hoping that you all will at least give the story a chance. I really wanted to flesh her out and make her more human. For what it's worth, I like Olivia a lot and find her a very compelling character, and I really wanted to get inside her head and see what made her tick. And I hope you can come to like, appreciate, and understand her through my writing.

I kind of wanted to explore what the writers initially wanted us to think about Olivia, to turn what could've been a cliché story into something a bit more deep and develop it further. I guess I wanted to prove that the cliché could be every bit as interesting or enlightening as Olivia's real backstory. Not that the writers did much of that. When I started writing this, we didn't know as much about the characters' backgrounds, and part of this story is me trying to fill that in... because of that, though, I always knew this story was going to be AU before I posted it.

Nonetheless, I've tried to keep it as close to canon as is possible, with a couple minor exceptions in terms of years and minor facts, and one big exception in the form of the Catherine plot. Mostly because I couldn't think of a way to incorporate that similar to how it was done on the show (and, to be honest, I didn't exactly want to for reasons I will detail at some point later so that I don't spoil everything here). That being said, the majority of canon doesn't actually apply to this story, as virtually all of it, with the exception of the last three chapters (and, really, the first of those is a bit iffy, though that conversation obviously had to occur at some point in canon).

So this is the story I've been working on in secret for the past six months or so. Okay, more like seven, really. I started writing it during the hiatus of death, when I didn't know where I was going with it, and it was, at the time, a much smaller story. It's kept me pretty occupied, and at some points, writing this story has even been like a drug. Anyway, I wanted to post this story when I was totally done with all of its various component parts, but I'm not. I've got most of it done, though. The idea for this fic just kind of seized hold of me at a bus stop, during a daydream, mostly out of me trying to understand some of Ringer's more confusing character relationships... so I kind of went the opposite way of how I actually thought that relationship was.

Anyway, the story will be in thirteen parts or so. It, like Ringer, has flashbacks and changes of location and year, so it jumps around a bit, and the various locations and times will be mentioned at the beginning of the chapter unless they're indistinct or unimportant. There are more things I should probably explain, but I don't want to spoil this chapter for you, so... I own any of the characters you don't recognize from being on the show, in this chapter most notably Matt. Also, I apologize if any of the stuff about Oxford isn't right. Despite my attempts at research, I still don't entirely understand its structure, not that the story focuses on that a lot, but still.

In conclusion, I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. And, if you made it through that really long author's note, then I respect you all the more. Also, I appreciate reviews if you can spare them.

* * *

"There is no palatable exit strategy." - Andrew Martin, Episode Sixteen.

* * *

June 1995, Thursday, 8:00 am.

Balliol College, Oxford, England, United Kingdom.

At precisely eight-oh-five in the morning, the alarm clock started buzzing, progressively getting louder. Its owner was a heavy sleeper. Olivia Viola Charles, however, was not. She woke sluggishly, let out a soft groan, and promptly buried her face in the pillow, hoping that if she shut out the light with her hair and stayed still long enough she could fall back asleep. Her head was pounding, and her entire body was sore. Eventually, however, the sound became too loud to ignore, and her slender hand reached out of the covers, slamming down hard on the snooze button. Olivia rolled over in bed, inadvertently snuggling up to the warm body next to hers. The sound of his heartbeat began to lull her back to sleep, and Olivia relaxed, curling into his chest.

Five minutes later, the alarm sounded again and more insistently. Olivia turned over, irritated, and stretched to turn it off. However, in doing so, she got a glimpse at the time, and she froze, horrified. Can it really be 8:10, she thought. A glance out the window told her it probably was. "Bugger." She pushed away from her companion, casting aside the heavy arm draped around her waist, practically vaulting out of the bed. She stopped for a minute, dizzy and a bit lightheaded. The world was spinning, and she needed to regain her bearings. She hadn't been this horribly, shamefully hungover since she was seventeen and on holiday in Greece.

Truthfully, Olivia had known that it was a bad idea to go out last night after celebrating finishing their theses, having a final exam the next day, but she hadn't expected to get completely pissed (or get laid, for that matter). They'd somehow wound up having a contest to see who could down the most shots of whiskey, and they'd ended up tying. A weak smile crossed her face when she saw the bottle of aspirin on the bedside table. She twisted the bottle open with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, dumped out two pills and swallowed them in one gulp without water. She felt a little better.

The room was very familiar to her, had been intimately familiar to her even before last night. However, the sight of her clothes strewn about it was not. Frowning, Olivia surveyed the room, scrambling to pick up her clothes, hurriedly fastening her bra and pulling on her skirt. She circled the room, trying in vain to find her underwear. Despairing a little, she shrugged on her shirt, attempting to do the buttons with one hand while she got down on her knees to peer under the bed. The space underneath the bed was surprisingly dark and messy, more cluttered than she'd really expected. It was one small reminder, she supposed, that her friend was still a boy in university, barely twenty years old, no matter how serious he tried to be sometimes.

She didn't see her underwear, and a look up at the clock made her to decide to forgo the search, so Olivia got up off her knees, dusting her skirt off, and finished buttoning up her shirt. She threw the rest of her things on a chair, looking at the clock before heading to the bathroom. Olivia gazed at herself in the mirror, frowning at her reflection. She looked half-dead; her already pale skin was two shades paler than usual with a grayish cast, her lips swollen, cheeks drawn, and with dark circles ringing her eyes. Her rumpled clothes couldn't contrast more with her usually well-accessorized and put-together appearance. She cringed when she tilted her head to the side and caught sight of a bright red hickey just under her jaw, high enough so everyone could see it. Everyone would know she'd had a regrettable but _immensely_ satisfying one-night stand last night, had slept in, and made the Walk of Shame to class during Exam Week. Olivia's reputation was bad enough as it was; she really didn't need all the other bitches whispering about how much of a slag she was.

Olivia cast these thoughts out of her mind, tying her hair back, and throwing her thoughts into one of the little boxes of things she'd rather not think about for the moment. She was nothing if not organized. Then Olivia made use of the bathroom, washed her hands, and reached out to find the toothbrush he kept for when she slept over. She slept over more often than she or his girlfriend would've probably liked, falling asleep after study sessions or nights at the pub. She had her own flat and did not live in college, so it was often more convenient for her to just crash at a friend's for the night and go to classes in the morning. He was her best friend, so she was most comfortable with him, sleeping on his bed or couch, depending on how gallant he was feeling. She was, however, trying _very_ hard not to think of him, so she tried to force the thoughts out of her head and brush her teeth as quickly as possible.

She spat, rinsed off her toothbrush, and splashed cold water on her face to perk herself up a bit. It didn't exactly work. She tried as best as she could to straighten her clothes, which had been somewhat crumpled last night, and she tucked her shirt into her skirt to make herself look a bit more presentable. Olivia left the bathroom and found her watch, looping it around her wrist and scowling at the time. She tied the black ribbon loosely around her neck, a bit sloppily perhaps, but her coordination was not what it ought to be. She frowned and walked to the other side of the room, close to his side of the bed, and very decidedly avoided looking at her very naked and very sexy best friend as she bent down to pick her gown up.

Fortunately for her, he slept like the dead. It was bad enough that she had all these memories of him sucking on her neck, using just the right amount of lips and teeth, and she remembered tumbling dizzily into his lap, the way she gasped when he slid into her. His hands on her skin, turning her over and underneath him, his weight suspended on her frame, the feeling of his soft, soft skin under her fingernails. Olivia straightened her back and dusted off her gown, snapping out of her daze. The matching hat was somewhere in the depths of her bag, sandwiched between textbooks, make-up, and study notes. She held it up and slipped one arm through the arm hole, and she would've done the same with the other arm, had he not reached out and grabbed her slender, delicate wrist, pulling her forward. Though she was characteristically graceful from years of ballet and ballroom dancing at her parents' insistence, she stumbled and nearly fell onto the bed. "Where are you going?" he asked, leaning back on his elbows, familiar frown already starting to form. She was very conscious suddenly of how very close she was to him and how dangerous that was.

Olivia let out a sigh, straightening up and trying to get her wrist back. She did not look at the way his abdominal muscles flexed as he reclined like that. "I am going to _class, _remember?" she said a bit sternly, still trying fruitlessly to wrest her wrist from his grip. He didn't even have class today, the git, and she was lucky his alarm was set for its usual time, or else she'd really be screwed. She'd have never thought he was so strong looking at him. He stared up at her levelly, blinking sleep from his eyes. She stepped back, cocked a hand on her hip and scowled at him, huffing out a breath. "I have a final exam in ten minutes! I can't be late, you know that," she said a bit sharply, glancing at the clock impatiently.

Surprisingly, he didn't even look at the clock, which was a bit strange given that they were usually on the same page. To the annoyance of their friends, they often finished each other's sentences and seemed to read each other's minds. But not now, and Olivia was frightened by the sudden thought that maybe she'd fucked it all up by sleeping with him, and all of that was gone now. She'd certainly never have done that during Exams Week sober, no matter how much she wanted to.

She couldn't look at him, but she felt his eyes boring into her as if he saw right through her. He probably did, but he could really be quite thick when he wanted to be. "What, were you just going to leave me here without saying goodbye? Without saying _anything_?" he asked snappily, tightening his grip on her wrist and pulling her in closer, trying to make her look at him. Some stubborn strands of hair, tousled from sleep and last night's more pleasurable activities, fell into his eyes, but he made no attempt to push them back or comb a finger through the tangles. "You were gonna walk out on me?" Olivia closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to cringe. She did not have the patience to soothe one of his little temper-tantrums, and she didn't know how to smooth this over. She was no good at this sort of thing.

Having regained some of her composure, Olivia opened her eyes and made herself look him in the face. His eyes were so dark, and it took her back to last night when he'd been staring at her with a completely different but equally dark expression in those same eyes. "It's not like it's a big deal. I've got class, like I said, and unlike you, I have to work if I even want to _dream_ of getting a double-first," she said dismissively, a bit peevishly. She didn't want to see the look on his face when she said that, but, in some respects, it was true. She'd had other one-night stands before, albeit not with her best friend, but she knew the drill. It didn't ever mean a thing, and, yes, she knew this was different—it was _Andrew_, for God's sake, Andrew bloody Martin, her best friend and closest companion of the past three years, the man she wanted to go into business with, of course it was a whole bloody trainwreck! But, realistically speaking, it wasn't like she could take it back, and she needed to pass her final examinations in order to get the fabulous life she'd planned out for herself.

"Not a big deal?" Andrew repeated incredulously, sitting up a bit more and leaning against the headboard. He still did not release her hand, although she thought it ought to be a crime for anyone to have abdominal muscles as nice as his. He went swimming regularly and pretended to like crew to make friends and connections more upper-class and pretentious than himself. Olivia fought the urge to roll her eyes, and Andrew snorted. "Don't be modest, Olivia. You're a whiz with numbers, and all the profs love you because you're a kiss-arse. It's not like the classroom isn't in the building. I think you've enough time to talk," he insisted, giving her an expectant look. "We _need_ to talk about it." He crossed his free arm over his chest, giving her a very serious expression as she, of course, was simultaneously wondering if the sheets could slip any further down his hips and cursing herself for even thinking about it.

It would've been so much easier if she'd forgotten last night entirely instead of remembering bits and pieces (okay, so she remembered almost every detail) of what was probably the best sex she'd had in her entire life. A new bit or piece assaulted her memory at the most inappropriate moments, and then it was like she was back in that moment with his lips on her skin and his hands everywhere she'd ever wanted them to be. Olivia exhaled slowly, trying to be calm when she wanted to panic. The situation she was in could not possibly get any more uncomfortable unless one of their friends walked in. "I know that, Andrew, I do," she attempted to reassure him, pulling at her limp wrist, licking her lips, "but I really do have to get to class or I'll fail."

His eyes narrowed as he stared her down. "What, you don't think this is something we should talk about?" His voice sounded funny, not quite right... off. It was a bit too calm for his worsening mood. Olivia sighed. A conversation about last night could not possibly go well. "We had sex, Olivia," Andrew continued pointedly. She looked at him curiously, scrutinizing the familiar frustrated expression and wondering why he was pressing this.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I _know_, Andrew. I was there, remember?" she quipped a bit irritably. Unlike Andrew, Olivia was not a patient person, nor did she tolerate abuses and indignities against her person. It had often bothered her that Andrew had to be polite all the time and, for being one of the most ambitious and determined men she'd ever met, could be such a doormat sometimes. She started to slip her free arm through the other arm hole of the gown since he didn't seem like he was about to let her go. "What do you want from me?"

Andrew gave her an incredulous look. She attempted once again to straighten her clothes. "I _want_ to talk to you. About what happened last night," he repeated dumbly. His lips tensed into a thin line. "I think you can spare me a minute or so to do that," he continued a bit more seriously. She has no idea how he's being so calm about it. She can't even think about last night because she can't afford to have some kind of an emotional breakdown right now. The look in his eyes, it isn't quite pleading, but it shows that, as always, he means business.

Just then, Olivia had a terrible feeling she wouldn't like what he was going to say. She knows Andrew, and she knows just what she's going to say, can already hear him saying it in her head. He would apologize for getting so drunk and taking advantage of her (even though they both knew better, didn't they?). Then he would say it was great and everything, but that it was a _mistake_ or a one-off or what have you. He would be thinking that he never should have done that because he had a girlfriend down in London, a rich girlfriend with a richer father who could take him places. She had never liked Olivia and had always been insecure about their friendship. Andrew would then ask for some time off from their friendship, perhaps, and would ask if everything could just go back to normal, like they hadn't spent hours last night exploring each others' bodies and having the best sex of both of their lives. And just like that, it would all mean nothing to him.

She couldn't bear to hear it, and she doubted she could hold it all together, much less succeed on her finals if Andrew told her all that. Their close friendship meant a lot to her, and she didn't want to just throw it away because she'd been so stupid and slept with him. If someone had asked her three years ago or even two years ago if she ever thought she'd have sex with Andrew Martin, she'd have said they were mental. Regardless of how she felt, Andrew famously liked blondes almost exclusively and was always chasing after some tiny, waspy little soulless blonde thing. He also liked crazy, cold women, the crazier and meaner to him the better, and Olivia was certainly not that. No, she was the girl who took him out drinking and consoled him when the bint he was dating broke his heart by cheating on him with one of his close friends. She wasn't stupid; her place had never been and would never be in his bed.

Olivia sucked in a shallow breath and decided to preempt him. "Look, Andrew, can we just not do this right now? I don't have time for this conversation, and, actually, I'd rather skip it, thanks," she interjected quickly, trying her best to keep her voice steady, if not a bit sharp. There was still a pleading, desperate undertone to her voice that she couldn't quite erase, no matter how hard she tried to keep it out. She tried to cast furtive, pointed glances at the clock, but she found herself unable to look away from his face. He was so effortlessly handsome sometimes that it wasn't really fair. Andrew's frown deepened. "Can we please fast-forward through the it's-not-you-it's-me awkwardness and get back to the part where we're friends again already?"

Andrew's jaw tightened, a clear sign that he was angry or didn't know quite what to say. She was really a lot more nervous about it than she let on. For whatever reason, Andrew had difficulties trusting women, and the expression on his face made it clear he didn't quite believe her. He exhaled through his nose, nostrils flaring, clearly forcing himself to be calm. His gaze was dark and utterly resolute. "Look, Liv, I know you don't "do" feelings, but we really do have to talk about what happened," Andrew insisted, still holding fast to her wrist. The nickname, the way he said it, always made her feel a little weak and tingly inside, and Olivia hated it. She hated the nickname too, only tolerating it when it came from Andrew's lips. She made a face at him; she really did hate emotional displays, and Andrew was... far more passionate than she was.

"We can't just..." Andrew licked his lips, his voice just the faintest bit ragged. She stared at his mouth with a naked, transparent hungriness that would've made her feel ashamed if he'd caught her in the act. She wished she didn't have a final and that she was still in bed with him, that she could just blow off all the rest of her finals and stay there in bed with him forever. But such a thing was not meant to be, and Olivia knew it. "Act like nothing's changed between us," he managed, meeting her gaze and pulling her in closer still.

He was so close Olivia could smell his skin, could smell the remnants of whiskey, cigarette smoke, cheap beer, and sweat on him. More than that, though, she could smell _him_. And, unlike when he'd been with Catherine (she could always tell), she couldn't smell the musky sandalwood scent of Shalimar on him... Maybe if she tried hard enough she'd be able to smell herself on him. Her spine stiffened slightly. "Why can't we?" she asked a bit fearfully. Things with them weren't perfect or exactly how she'd prefer them to be, but Andrew was still her best friend and far too important for her to lose. Everything had been just about _perfect_ before she'd gone and fucked it all up by sleeping with him, and she didn't want to lose that because she was fairly certain she'd never find something like this ever again.

Andrew was more or less the fire to her ice. He could be as cold as her, certainly, but underneath it all, Andrew cared intensely about every little thing. That was why he flew off the handle so often. Like her, he was a control freak, but unlike her, he was more used to his life being out of control than it being how he liked it, which was why he was the one of them who seemed more at ease in this situation. Olivia, on the other hand, liked having everything all planned out, and, having intended none of this, and, indeed, scarcely able to believe it had happened at all... well, it was hard enough for her just to put one foot in front of the other and soldier on.

He gave her a dark, irritated look, practically breathing fire. He clenched his jaw, eyes flashing. "Because we had sex, Olivia, and I think that means something's bloody changed because, as far as I know, we don't have _that_ kind of friendship!" he growled breathlessly, tugging on her wrist. He was absolutely thunderous when he got like this, and it was a sight to behold. Olivia squirmed a little, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Andrew turned her on even more when he was angry like this, and it was making her feel uncomfortable, especially since she wasn't wearing underwear and was very conscious of his nakedness. He let out a heavy breath through his teeth. "We can't undo that," he managed a bit more calmly. "But," he continued a bit more slowly, in an altogether too-rational tone, attempting to look her in the eyes, "there's clearly a reason why it happened-"

"Yeah," Olivia interrupted sharply, not wanting to hear him finish the sentence, "because we were drunk off our arses!" She exhaled irritably, shrugging her drooping gown up her other shoulder and once again shaking her wrist, trying to get free. "Now _will_ you let me go already? I told you I've got to go, and I can't have this conversation with you right now!" she continued, taking a step backwards, trying to break his grip. Unfortunately for them both, Andrew didn't quite see that she would've been willing to press a pause button on this conversation, and he remained insistent.

Andrew held fast. The expression on his face turned exasperated, frustration shining through. "Why won't you even let me finish talking?" he asked, resigned. Olivia held her head up, determined not to show weakness. She looked away rather than answering him, not trusting herself with words. She was nearing her breaking point, and in the peculiar emotional state she was in, she couldn't take much more of this. She cast a glance at the clock and began to panic; she had to force herself to calm her breathing. Andrew's grip was a little looser.

His other hand came up to rest on her face. She flinched a little when he touched her; the light in his eyes dimmed some. His hand remained, and he stroked the side of it with the back of his hand, knuckles brushing her jaw. It was all she could do not to lean into his touch and forget herself. Later she'd think that it would've been worth it, but at the time her whole future was hanging over her head, and she couldn't choose Andrew. She doesn't realize until later how hungry she was to prove herself back then. He was staring deeply into her eyes, gaze dark and intent and full of some naked emotion she couldn't name. "You can't run away from it," he murmured, fingers trailing across her face and over her swollen lips.

Somehow she managed not to get caught up in the moment, though she'd never been able to remain unaffected with him. She took advantage of his relaxed grip and snatched her arm back, intending to run off. She was already half turned away when she felt Andrew's hand slide to the back of her neck, holding her there and forcing her to look at him again. "What are you so afraid of, Liv?" Andrew whispered, husky voice a mixture of confusion and disbelief. He breathed her name, and by the diminutive made it the softest name in the world. She blinked at him, surprised by the honesty in his voice, the sheer openness in his expression. The look in his eyes was smoldering, the kind of look that drew her in and took her breath away. It was the kind of look that not only made her forget to breathe but made her not remember why she needed to, let alone want to breathe at all.

She was quite still, mesmerized by the look in his eyes and the sound of his voice requesting so much more of her than he said. And then, before she could move or even attempt to respond to his question, Andrew pulled her down to him, his lips on hers, his teeth scraping her bottom lip. It was almost like he was trying to swallow her whole. His grip firmed a little around the back of her neck as he deepened the kiss. She flailed a little, nearly falling over at the sudden upset in balance. Somehow Andrew's other hand came to find the small of her back, pushing her down closer to him. His hand pushed her shirt up and out of her skirt so that his hand could press against her bare skin. He kissed across the side of her face and down her jawline, his stubble scraping against soft skin, his lips and teeth finding the spot he'd marked last night. She felt equal measures of pain and pleasure as he sucked on the pressure point, and Olivia was unable to stop herself from letting out a breathy moan.

His lips not being on hers also allowed her to regain her sanity, which happened after the fog in her head had cleared somewhat. God, the man could _kiss_. Her eyes, which had fluttered ever since Andrew had found her neck, which she'd tilted to the side to give him better access to, shot wide open, and she caught sight of the clock. She had only five minutes to make it to class, and it was at least that long of a walk. A mixture of panic and alarm overwhelmed her, clearing the daze from his kisses. Olivia jerked backwards, nearly tripping over her own feet. His hands were still all over her, gently stroking her bare skin and driving her crazy. Andrew's eyes were imploring, darkly enchanting, subtly urging her to come back and press her lips against his again.

She wanted nothing more than to stay there in that moment with him, lips fused, but that wasn't an option. "I just... I-I c-_can't_ do this right now," she stammered with pleading eyes, breaking down in her own way. She could feel the cracks in her veneer, the dents in her armor growing by the moment, exposing tiny weaknesses. She was silently begging him to not take it any further, gradually backing away millimeter by millimeter. She tried not to cringe at the sound of her own voice, shaky and unsure, not quite steady, just like her legs. She swallowed hard but found it still more difficult to look at him. "I'm sorry, Andrew," she managed pathetically, flashing a pained, mostly feigned smile. She was blinking furiously.

Since she'd only managed a single, brief look at him, she didn't see the way his entire face fell and darkened, though she could've probably guessed that the slow embers in his eyes turned into wildfires. Andrew sighed wearily, finally seeing that there was nothing else he could say to her. She wasn't the only sorry one. Olivia had always been so stubborn; he wasn't getting anywhere with her, and he wasn't _going_ to get anywhere. Then he released her. A somewhat startled Olivia stumbled and tried to find her footing on weak knees. It took her a moment, but she found her bearings and walked over to the chair to grab her bag. She found her shoes and put the spike heels on one at a time while teetering dangerously on one foot and nearly falling over several times; it was harder to do than usual because she could feel his eyes on her. Andrew watched attentively, eyes blazing a trail up her legs, searching for familiar, intimate territory as she bent and twisted this and that way.

Olivia hurried to the door once both of her shoes were on, legs wobbling a bit more than usual. "This is **not** over, Olivia!" Andrew vowed, raising his voice and sitting up straight. Ordinarily that might've been a promise, and Olivia would've taken it seriously, but she had no intention to let him get his way here. They were a month from graduation, and she didn't have time for such emotional upheaval. She just didn't have the mental facilities to process it, much less finish having this conversation with him. She didn't have time to analyze his every action and wonder what he meant, especially when he had a girlfriend!

He'd finally realized she was actually going to leave. Olivia's hand was on the door, fingers closed around the knob but not twisting it open. She cast a last look at him. If he was going to say something important, something to make her change her mind, he had better say it now. "I..." Andrew began and then faltered. His hands fisted his sheets, muscles clenched in frustration at his inability to articulate. Olivia turned away, exhaling quietly and wondering why she was foolish enough to think that Andrew would say anything important. Her fingers twisted the doorknob. "_Damnit_, Olivia, I am not gonna bloody shout this after you from my bed!"

She opened the door and turned back to look at him, letting him feel the full force of her stare. That was, sadly, exactly what he was going to do, and they both knew it. Andrew sighed, looking away with a trace of shame in his eyes. "If that's the way you feel, then I guess we don't need this conversation after all," Andrew muttered, resigned. He looked almost like a petulant child, sitting there with his jaw tight, his eyes downcast, and his lips and forehead etched into frowns. Olivia frowned too, after seeing him, somewhat disappointed that Andrew had given in so easily, that he would really just give up like that. It wasn't like him.

Then she whirled around, quietly shutting the door behind her. "Oh, Andrew, but it is..." Olivia murmured a bit sadly, gaze flicking to her watch. She could see that even then. Something had ended today. She walked a bit slower but still briskly, well aware that Andrew could pull some clothes on and follow her if he so chose. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite looking where she was going, so she ran into Matt, Andrew's suitemate and best male friend for the past three years. When Olivia glanced up and saw who it was, she cringed a little, trying not to flush, well aware of how disheveled she looked.

"Olivia?" Matt repeated incredulously, steadying her. Matt had also slept in, apparently, given his even more disheveled appearance; they were in the same class and had to take the same exam. His eyes caught on the red bruise high on her neck, and then he looked past her to Andrew's closed door. Olivia shrugged off his arms defiantly, trying to hide her discomfort. "You and Andrew...?" he inquired disbelievingly, eyes widening in shock. She looked away from his indicting cobalt blue gaze.

"I've got to get to class, Matt," Olivia said coolly, cutting him off and pushing past him. "And so do you," she called over her shoulder, giving him a look, halfway to their front door. Matt swore under his breath, but the look he was giving her indicated that he wasn't about to let things go there. The two of them made their way out of the room, Matt hot on Olivia's heels. Matt was a lot less type-A, alpha-persona than both her and Andrew, so his steps were more unhurried. She wasn't inclined to wait on him or chit-chat.

Matt called out to her to fix her shirt, which Olivia did haphazardly, not slowing down a bit. There were several catcalls from friends and acquaintances, but Olivia ignored them, trying not to think about what they must've thought of her. Matt and Andrew lived on a mens-only floor, some bizarre remnant of ancient university traditions that Olivia didn't pretend to understand. She let out a breath, scurrying to class but scarcely able to believe that had just happened. She'd dreamt of doing that, of being joined with Andrew, for years. And somehow now the longing was worse once she knew what it felt like. It was like there was a weight on her chest, pressing down and constricting her breathing even more than the exercise.

And, worse still, the weight didn't let up, not even a little, even after she was finished running. _Damn it_, she thought as she sat down in her chair, slightly breathless, accepting the paper from her teacher. Andrew had been right, hadn't he? She couldn't run away from it. She sat her final and started scribbling answers like an robot, but the conscious part of her mind was still back in that bedroom with Andrew, wondering what her next move was. Even though it isn't like her to dwell on anything or question her decisions once made, she couldn't help but endlessly turn over her steps, searching for other ways that conversation could've gone if things had been different.

She couldn't shake the unsettling sense that she just might've screwed things up forever, that maybe she'd damaged their relationship beyond repair with the words she'd had to spit out to escape. Somehow, though it surprises her greatly, she manages not to write Andrew's name anywhere on her test paper. As Andrew predicted, she ends up passing the final with flying colors, but any triumph she feels is lessened by the ceaseless wondering of whether or not she's lost something still more important.

That, apparently, is one question she will never know the answer to.


End file.
